


Family Portrait

by blanketed_in_stars



Series: 52 Weeks of Wolfstar [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hogwarts Fifth Year, M/M, Violence, Well the summer after that year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 15:16:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3213881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanketed_in_stars/pseuds/blanketed_in_stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Oh, my, there was a storm then,</i><br/>There was a flood of a different kind</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Portrait

**Author's Note:**

> Week 3
> 
> Title and summary come from the Radical Face song of the same name.

When he hears the first explosion, Sirius isn't listening. He's stretched out across a sofa in the drawing room one floor below. The whole room is covered in black draperies and ornate sconces, including the chandelier, which drips jewels as large as his fist. In his mind, though, he's lying beneath the beech tree by the Black Lake, and Remus is reading next to him. Sunlight filters through the branches to make a dappled pattern even when he closes his eyes—which is often, since Remus keeps running his fingers through Sirius's hair, and Sirius likes to enjoy the sensation fully.

The second one is loud enough to snap him out of the memory. He sits up, swinging his legs around so he's sitting upright. If there's one thing his mother hates more than blood traitors, it's people who put their feet up on the furniture.

But she's not around to catch him—she's shouting upstairs. From the sound of it, she's in his room. For a moment, he thinks it might be best to stay where he is and let her rage cool on its own. But it's always so much easier if she can yell at him right away instead of simmering for days, and besides, the holidays have been dead boring so far. He needs a little excitement.

When he walks into his bedroom, the third explosion hits the wall to the right of the door frame, only a few inches from his head. He lurches away and stares at his mother, who's hissing like a wild cat. "Mum—?"

"Who the _hell_ ," she seethes, "do you think you are? A mudblood? A filthy muggle?"

"I—" He can't speak for a moment. This is more than he bargained for. "I don't know what you're t—"

"You know perfectly well what I mean." She flexes her fingers in his direction, as if itching to throttle him. "Hanging about with the rabble you call friends, as if any Black would be caught dead in the company of such scum!"

In a sudden burst of intuition, Sirius's gaze darts to the most recent addition to his wall, a photograph in which he stands laughing with Remus, James, and Peter. It was taken the same day as those hours by the lake, half a week after the completion of the map. They were still exultant, reveling in their secret victory. Remembering it lights a spark of pride in Sirius. It seems absurdly out of place in this dark room with his hag of a mother sneering at him.

Walburga whips her wand out and brandishes it at the picture. Sirius reacts just in time, leaping forward and yanking her arm to the side just as she sends a blasting curse toward the photograph. The jet of orange light rebounds and hits the opposite wall. There's a smell of burning paper, a burst of noise, and then nothing more but a hole in the wallpaper that goes right through to the studs.

"Please, mum!" Sirius goes forward, hands out, desperate, only to backtrack immediately when his mother turns on him again. "It's just a picture!"

"You think I don't know who this is?" She throws an accusing finger back at one of the boys in the picture. It's Remus. "This boy's mother is a muggle! His father's a disgusting blood traitor! The boy's no better than either of them. In fact," she says, and Sirius's throat squeezes shut in dread, "I have it on good authority that he's a _werewolf_." She spits the word out with a repulsed shudder.

Sirius shakes his head. "He's not. He's not."

It's all he manages to get out. Walburga scoffs. "He is an abomination, a freak, and you know it! I can see it in your face. How could you keep this sort of company? Do you have any idea what you'll do to this family if word gets out?"

"What I'll do to—? I couldn't care less!" He matches her volume, shouting over her. "He's my _friend_!" He's so much more than that, but now really isn't the time to mention it.

"He isn't even human!" she screams back. "You're a disgrace for even speaking to him. You must remove that picture and never associate with him again, or any of them!" She rolls her eyes over her shoulder at the group of boys laughing obliviously.

Sirius would love to take the picture. The problem is, he's cast his sticking charms too well; he couldn't undo it if he tried. He tells his mother this. "You'll just have to bear it."

"I won't," she vows. "I'll not have anyone in this family consorting with half-breeds. The whole lot of them and their blood traitor allies will taint the names of even the most respectable wizards! It's despicable." She throws another hex at him, which he dodges. "Do you even remember the words of our House?"

"Tojours bloody Pur," Sirius yells, "and I don't give a damn! You decided I wasn't pure enough the moment I was Sorted into Gryffindor. Well, maybe I'm glad for that! Who'd want to be a part of this?" He waves his hand about to encompass his mother, the house, his entire life, forgetting that he's holding his wand, and ends up sending an accidental stinging jinx under Walburga's arm. It hits his bed harmlessly, but she only looks more enraged than ever.

They emerge onto the landing, about a foot apart, shouting as if there's a Quidditch pitch between them. "You don't want to be a part of this?" Walburga repeats. "That can be arranged! There's no place for blood traitors here." She slashes her wand through the air and, in a clatter of noise that's as loud as the curses, brings Sirius's trunk crashing out of his room and down the staircase. "No son of mine will befoul these halls." She keeps marching forward, forcing Sirius to follow his trunk down the steps.

When he reaches the bottom, he stops, even though every bone in his body tells him that he should already be gone. "Mum," he says.

"My patience is wearing thin," she snaps, curling her lip.

"Please, just—just don't tell anyone about him. About Remus. About—you know. That he's a werewolf."

Her eyes flash. "I would never admit such a thing," she tells him. "You may have dishonored your proud name, but it will never be known that a member of this family ever fraternized with such muck." She twitches her wand, and a wall of air slams into his chest, knocking him backward into his trunk. He sprawls on the hard wooden floor with his mother standing over him. "Get out."

"Gladly." Sirius scrambles to his feet and grabs the handle of his trunk, lugging the dead weight. He nearly trips over Kreacher, who chuckles gleefully. It's the last sound he hears before the heavy door slams shut.

Out in the courtyard, he grins, even as he heaves a sigh. Just being out of that house does wonders for the weight on his shoulders.


End file.
